<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Every Version of Me by beautlilies</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138031">Every Version of Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautlilies/pseuds/beautlilies'>beautlilies</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Any Thrill Will Do [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, JaliceWeek20, Jaliceweek, Smut, and edward being an ass, and rosalie being wary of suspicious jasper, for jalice week, ft. emmett and innapropriate comments, it is smutty and you will feel feelings, porn but with feelings, with mom esme scolding her children</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:42:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,815</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautlilies/pseuds/beautlilies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the relationship of alice and jasper. what it is and what it isn't.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alice Cullen/Jasper Hale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Any Thrill Will Do [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975681</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Jalice Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Every Version of Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There is an unfound depth to him. It is frightening in some capacity - the level to which his soul has come to know her, understand and accept her and idiosyncrasies as quickly and as openly as he did. It is both dazzling and dizzying, the unconventional turn their union has taken, so far away from the distant visions she once clung to for survival, melodical and loud and constant noise from Alice, chirping in his ear and laughing in the Mississippi swamps, clinging to silent and cautious Jasper, with his careful movements and low grunts with each question or suggestion that she tosses his way. She understands what each grunt means, each gentle guide of his hand along her wrist just as he knows when to press himself to her body, huddled together in the Canadian blizzard as if she needs his body heat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jasper is aware of the times he needs to humanize them, an arm thrown around her shoulder or tucking her between the leather of his jacket. She is quick to learn when he has decided that they have been in one place too long, a twitch in his eye and a tremble of his finger as he decides they need to leave before the sun can rise and the ghost can catch them. Alice knows when Jasper is exhausted from the demons, starving for something more than bloodshed and aching for some reprieve to the never ending surge of venom, electric and striking over his skin that leaves him frozen and pleading with anything - any</span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make it stop. It’s a different language, one only Alice is fluent in. Each grunt, each shift in tone or heavier exhale means something different each time, hardly ever the same and only for Alice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spent decades in solitude, left to find comfort in the stories written in the stars and old legends of vampires that burn to ash and are striked down with wooden stakes. Jasper slips away from the tiny houses Alice prepares for them, and she helps him out of stained t-shirts and ruined jeans, holding him to her breast as he sobs in horror, the weight of his crimes on his shoulders and visible in his iris'. He tries to make it up to her, still in disbelief that this relationship between them is not transactional, that he is not a means to end. Stolen rubies and lovely praises mouthed into the crevice of her neck, his fingerprints marking her hips black and blue, and his fingers perfectly in tune to each need and each whine and each tug of his hair. He is there when she complains about Louisa and each time she purposely unravels and removes each important piece to her design, and she is there when he sobs about the family in Alberta he slaughtered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fall into a new rhythm by the time it is 1949, a small cottage on the edge of Virginia and Maryland. She sews for the community center, stitches for each church of every denomination. Jasper spent his time following her around the house, watching her hum and pin and tear. He won’t always tell her about who he killed, or won’t ever admit that he makes himself ill trying to cover up the smell and the taste of human blood. She knows - with his silence and avoidance of her eyes, but if it bothers her she hides it from him well, never speaks of her misgivings of his half-hearted attempt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She expects his vocality, the ferocious and burning nature of his scorn moments after he is thwarted. His eyes are black and his hands are rough and on the verge of too violent, too dangerous. It’s not dependent on his mood, not entirely - he speaks regardless of the prior circumstances, praises and draws out whines and pathetic begging. She’s his good girl. She’s desperate for him and he reminds her each time the frame squeals against the hardwood, rolling his hips harder and deeper. He will stick his thumb in her mouth and she will claw at his back, nails catching on scars and glittering porcelain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s still artful with his expressions when it comes to his own pleasure. Each grunt and each huff of air means something different. She craves the sounds she can draw from him. Desperate for the sounds in each position they try, when he gets so deep she swears she can feel him in her throat. When he’s above her, hand around her neck and the other precariously holding his weight off of her. He likes to have her close, to have a hand pushing her against his chest as his hips roll in this agonizingly slow pace he has set, slow and rough, his lips leaving tiny groans against the delicate skin of her neck. They come out only when he’s too far gone to control himself, the middle of tearing off arms and smashing heads to fine dust - the pain from his intuition and his emotional nature replaced with each gasp of pleasure and string of curses with each surprised clench, rock of her hips or her sudden need for control, taking control of him and his body until he sings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jasper is fanatic, consumed with consuming. His determination is admirable, a quest he has conquered repeatedly, understands the map of her body before she herself could ever know. He likes to taste every inch, to bring her to edge over and over, shredding off the fabric from her body while still being entirely dressed. He’s loud and territorial, marking her and tasting her and replacing his tongue with two thick fingers because it’s all that fits sometimes. The sounds he makes are lewd, inappropriate in every context. He slurps like he’s feasting, groans like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted something as sweet and as divine as her. He tells her, sometimes, how she tastes to him, how wonderful she’s been for him, and Alice swears it makes her more desperate, keening against his lips and grinding herself on his thigh. Jasper is efficient in every way, in every capacity. Minimum effort in exchange for maximum results, and it’s no different when it comes to Alice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, she finds herself thinking he was made to fuck and fight. If she could, Alice would hand him every award in history for both categories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is a subdued strength, built of muscle and stature. He overwhelms her more than she had anticipated, mesmerized by the way his muscles push and pull under his skin, scars stretching and glimmering in the moonlight. She finds him well-versed in how to best use his strength, when and where to disburse an exercise of control. His tongue is no different, a carefully nuanced wall of muscle that knows how to move and when, how to tease and when to give in to her begging, pushing inside slowly and lightly because he’s always afraid he’ll hurt her - no matter how many times they do this. Sometimes, if he wants to surprise her, Jasper will let his nose bump against her clit when he shifts to that one angle that has her gasping and legs trembling around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the after, Jasper tells her stories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’s allowed to pick a scar from anywhere on his body. He’s open and careless once she’s exhausted him, when his body is still thrumming with the last waves of his orgasm. There is a web of scars on his wrist and the space between his thumb and index finger, and he recounts with a fond smile of the times he finds some joy now, far removed from the actual horrors that he lets her trace the raised skin and lay pretty kisses to them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jasper is a giver, tired of taking on the emotional and physical brunt of the horrors in the past. Even when she takes control, pressing his body into the mattress until there is nothing but the smallest particles of matter between them. His large hand will wrap around her throat even then, hips rocking and rolling and no mortal bed can withstand the force of their union. She doesn’t need air, but it burns all the same. Jasper knows what it means to twist the head off a body, to crush the windpipe of the enemy faster than it can register. He knows when he should let go or loosen his grip before Alice can come to that conclusion herself; he knows when she needs to let go, when he needs her to let go. He gives it to her, even after all of the teasing and all of the cliffs he’s left her dangling off of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even when she’s pinned to the mattress, the dirt of the wilderness, or whatever surface he decided that he wants to take her against, pounding without a rhythm, fucking out the frustration from his perceived failures, Jasper gives. He’s always touching, pulling and tweaking and rubbing the pink of her nipples, his thumb always finding her clit - </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> stroking and teasing and maddening. There are rarely words in those occasions, just muffled grunts and stifled moans, but they understand each other just as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, he seeks comfort and safety and the tenderness he’s been craving for the better part of a century. It’s not love - not yet, because no matter how hard Alice tries, Jasper still isn’t ready for that relationship, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>relationship. He wants the soft gentle touches of her lips, how her hips roll against his and her soft sounds murmured between his lips. He still gives, even then. He’s open and vulnerable beneath her, silent reminders that he feels safe - that he feels safe and wanted </span>
  <em>
    <span>with Alice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s the most he can offer her, even in his most delicate moments he is still unintentionally rough in his movements, around the edges of his soul.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They have separate rooms in each home that Alice finds for them. She never pushes, never insists on him staying in one room with her. Still, he finds his way into her bed and she his. They’ve come to learn how to cuddle up against one another, how to touch and hold and tease and laugh with each other. He’s always in control, always the one caging instead of being caged. Alice doesn’t mind; she likes the weight of him pressed against the sides of her, how his arms trap her beneath him and his lips. It makes her feel safe and it makes him feel safe, a feedback loop that is too complex and too difficult to decipher.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice loves him. Jasper insists that this isn’t love. It’s not that kind of relationship. Even when his own chest hurts when he remembers the look on her face, the defeated tone and the loud breaking of her heart. They can’t be in love. Not with him still waiting for Maria to find him after all this time. Not when Alice wants to find a group of people who feed on animals rather than people. He convinces himself that if it had been another lifetime, other circumstances to bring them together, he would fall in love with her as easily as he can submit himself to her and her whims. But now is not that time. Now will never be that time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re just fucking and she supposes it’s better than nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s now, hidden in the Alaskan wilderness and surrounded by the memories Alice has built in this small home inside her head and more vampires in one place than he’s used to after all this time, with Emmett winking and stumbling around with his too-big feet and too-large excitement and zest for eternity. He’s bold, bolder than he’s been since Jasper arrived with Alice, her hand tugging him along and holding him back and keeping him back. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>hung</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he says. “Like a bear or some shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Esme is appalled. Edward does not seem surprised. Rosalie is smug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I bet you miss sex,” he continues. “Especially when you’ve had the best sex of your life. Do you miss sex?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want me to say, Emmett?” It was non-committal and lazy. Alice understands what the small huff of air that’s almost a laugh means.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hell yeah we do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you an ass man or a tit man? You look like an ass man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do I have to be one or the other?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m an everything kind of guy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Alice stifles her laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mood turns. A snide comment from Rosalie because she’s still not accustomed to him and to Alice. Edward and his silent agreement that a man as scarred and as jaded as Jasper is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>psychopath</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Alice is ready to get in a screaming match when Edward confirms Rosalie’s theory, “There’s nothing but a war with him.” Esme snaps at that, and orders all three of them out. Jasper listens to their footsteps as they run as far as possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a good thing, Alice supposes, that Rosalie had pushed him the slightest bit too far. Alice knows that she would have ended up fucking on what was Edward’s mattress or the upstate New York soil not far from the house. She would have risked being caught with nothing but Jasper’s hands for clothing, the bruises he leaves on her skin artful and expensive jewelry. She doesn’t consider any of that, not when he stands and grunts, pulling her up and flush against his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We have time</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice knows they do, but she checks twice more just to be sure. And when she’s sure, she throws herself into his kiss. His hands are at the hem of her shirt, slipping underneath the fabric and along her skin as he pulls it off. He grins when Alice whines when he pulls away to rid her of her shirt completely, and he does so again when she’s rough and almost pleading into the next kiss. She tears at his hoodie, because he’s back to square one with his acceptance of his skin ever since that first meeting, and their hips meet, massive hands around the small slip of her waist, teeth scraping along the skin of her neck, soft nips with his lips as her hands scratch along his back, claws at his shoulders, and her legs buckle under the weight of his urgency, his desire. When he's finally gotten her in their room, Jasper takes a moment to shift her onto the bed before he’s back to his ministrations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It won’t hurt tomorrow. None of the bruises he leaves her with are ever bruises, no matter how large or how intense they are. The one that will blossom on her neck by the end of the day will be as large as her hand, hard to cover and harder to explain away if she wished too. She knows they’ll match the ones of her inner thighs, the skin between her breasts. His hands are roaming and his palming then, too, taking her by surprise, always eager to do so when she’s lost in visions or incoherent thoughts. He grins at her surprise, moving on down her body to squeeze the supple shape of her ass. She follows his lead, using one hand to tug him back to her lips and the other to slip between his jeans, squeezing his ass, always thankful that he is not fond of underwear. Jasper has an amazing ass - and he knows it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They meet in another kiss. They trade like they are bartering for more time with one another, breathing in the same air and exchanging silent moans. He kisses her like he’s dying, hot and open-mouth and Alice is hardly keeping her head above water. The feel of his tongue pushing past her lips, past her tongue, has her spiraling and gasping into his own mouth, and he doesn’t stop, revels in how willing she is for him, to let him in - in every sense and in every opportunity and every time. She lets him take what he needs and he gives her everything back just as much, just as intensely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jasper shifts, and the hand-me-down mattress squeals against his sudden change. Jasper wonders not for the first time if they can fuck the frame through the wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he’s on her again. Pressing his body on her own, tearing lace and satin from her chest. Alice manages to kick off his pants, and Jasper is tugging down her pretty little skirt down her legs, her matching panties discarded over his shoulder. His mouth leaves marks, moves with Alice with each keen and each push of her chest. He likes how it feels to have her respond so well to him, to push him closer to her breast and tightening her grip in his hair when his tongue flicks out and teases for the first time today. His hands have her pinned, thighs swallowed by his large hands. Alice whines, the other nipple raised and desperate for his attention. Jasper complies, nipping once more before he alternates. Except, he decides to hover just above, hot breath fanning across her skin, until she tugs a bit harder and whines his name. It is then that Jasper gives in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” she breathes. She pulls him off, and he can feel her reluctance to do so. “Please just fuck me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grunts. She can hear it again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We have time.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knows. She knows better than he does. She just doesn’t care if they are given a month together to make up for lost time and the lost fortitude of privacy they’ve been accustomed to. She just needs him to do something, anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you desperate, baby?” He murmurs, and he doesn’t miss how her emotions flicker at the way the pet name falls from his lips. Jasper doesn’t dwell on that, or that it’s the first time he’s allowed it to slip past his lips. Instead, he kisses down her sternum, all soft and dainty and barely there. “Are you begging? So soon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice whines and rolls her hips. He likes that he knows what it means.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not begging. Just fuck me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jasper laughs. He lets one hand release her thigh, trailing up the length of it before his finger is right where she wants him, teasing and hardly there. He moves himself further and further down the length of her little body until he’s aligned, his nose brushing her clit and his breath fanning across her. He maintains eye contact when his tongue rolls and smooths small circles against her. He likes what the sight of him between her legs does to her, how it makes her smell and makes her more eager and more responsive. His broad shoulders and her thin legs tossed over them, the muscles in his back, his arms straining against his skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No touching, okay,” he says. Alice lets her hand fist among the sheets. She knows what’s coming, her stomach tightens in anticipation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jasper lingers. He keeps her on the edge of waiting as he takes her in, not for the first time and not for the last time. Alice squirms. Jasper smiles. “Patience, Alice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jasper,” she groans and he can feel her frustration thurming under her skin.  Jasper laughs and allows himself to succumb to her wants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not the best angle. He’s so tall and she is not. He is hardly on the bed anymore, resting on his knees and tugging her farther down and closer to him. She thinks about handing him a pillow, something, to make it easier for him, but he licks a broad stripe, wide and flat against her and she can’t think at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He angles his head, tongue poking and prodding and massaging. Her grip tightens on the sheets; Jasper thinks he heard the corner pop off the edge. He’s always methodical and he never makes any move without examining every outcome, and when he shifts ever so slightly, letting his nose brush against her clit just how she likes, she moans and moves against his lips. Marginally, he tightens his hold on her thighs, and it’s exactly what she wants. Until he moans against her. Then she can’t think. She can’t breathe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jasper shifts again. Alice manages to regain her thoughts enough to bring the pillow to him, smacking his back with it. “Do you want to have a pillow fight,” he teases. “I could ask Rosalie if she would be interested.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For your knees,” she’s breathless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s nice of you, baby,” and again she nearly combusts with excitement and unspoken questions. “I’m alright. I’ve been in much worse places.” Still, he sets it below his knees anyways, taking her thighs in his hands once more. He’s at a better angle - her </span>
  <em>
    <span>favorite </span>
  </em>
  <span>angle - teases every nerve and every muscle, in and out and around. His noises are erotic and lewd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, he instructs her to touch - anyone and anything. Her nimble fingers fly to her clit, moving with the rhythm of his tongue. It’s almost instant, how quickly she falls over her edge, hips bucking and legs trembling. Her back is arched and her voice is failing her as he coaxes her through her orgasm. When he comes back up from between her legs, he strokes her cheek and murmurs in her ear. “You did so good, baby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls away and she whines. She’s not begging, that much is clear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turn over for me,” he croons, already in the process of turning her over. It takes her a minute before she’s able to raise herself to her hands and knees. Her head falls to the mattress again, burying into the sheets as his hands palm the roundness of her behind. He uses his knees to shift her feet apart, and then he’s right there, the tip of him just barely brushing where she needs him most.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jazz,” she sings, and she concedes that she is begging. She concedes that she always has been, always wants him in every manner. She’s always needed it - something. It’s been too damn long since they’ve had a moment for themselves, to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To talk about where they stand, what he’s withheld longer than she’s ever hoped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are so pretty, baby,” he murmurs against her shoulder. “I’ve got you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he does. He’s there to keep her steady as she moves with him, as she claws for more. His hands are roaming, the small of her back, the swell of her ass, the slope of her breasts and the column of her neck. He edges forward with every thrust, shallow and barely there to keep her begging and keep her whining his name because maybe he’s always liked the way she needed him, so different and so pure from the types of need he’s ever known. Then, he places a knee on the mattress and his thrusts are no longer shallow and Alice is no longer trying to be quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jasper grunts. He tugs at her hair when she least expects it. A particularly sharp and well-timed thrust of his hips, enjoying how she moves with the force of his movements. She holds on to the other edge of the bed, as if it’s the only thing that can keep her from slipping out of this life and into the next. She gives him control of her body and her pleasure, lets him move how he wants and move her as he pleases. Every breath and every groan Jasper releases only encourages her own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he shifts again. Hovering over her, lips on her shoulder and his hand curled around the front of her chest. She moves with each pull of his hand, lets him kiss pretty bruises along her neck and crook of her shoulder. He reminds her, over and over how good she feels, how wonderful she is for him. Precision he’s only used in battle now used to keep her keening, keep her hips rolling against his own. A constant ebb and flow. He gets that one spot over and over, purposeful and intentional to keep her hand clutching at his arm, her breathless sobs as she’s overwhelmed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yet, baby,” he murmurs. Alice whines. Jasper reiterates himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gasps, loud and desperate and he takes the opportunity to wrap his hand around her throat, squeezing just so. She can feel his breath against her ear, fingers at her clit. He groans when she clenches and starts to beg, his name in pitiful pleas falling from her bruised lips. She’s trying so hard to hold off, but he makes it so difficult - especially when he stops his movements with a faux apology mouthed into her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jasper pulls her up, her back to his chest. He’s holding her tightly, tighter than he ever has before. He moves his hips just so, this new angle getting in deeper than ever before. His hands are on her chest, holding her breasts, thumb rolling and pinching each nipple as her own fly behind her, gripping onto dirty blonde hair. She thinks in that moment they should have a mirror for the next time they do this, and the thought of it makes her clench around him once more. She’s always known he was bigger than most, but she’s never seen him moving inside of her, not from an outside view and the thought sets her on fire. She can picture his face, eyes rolled back and eyebrows drawn close as he focuses on not letting go, on teasing and taunting until she can’t take anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, he encourages her to let go. Holds her close as she loses herself from each and every tremor, magnified by his own and his own internal power. It’s her favorite feedback loop, and she feels like she’s drowning until there’s no possible way she can continue. His hips slow, and he eases her back onto the bed, rolling her on her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s slower now, when he slips back inside. He likes the way she groans, lazily and low as she shifts against him. He’s harder than he’s ever been, but he’s careful and mindful that she’s sensitive and thrumming from two orgasms. It’s a slow rhythm, moving and rocking gently and in time with her quiet gasps. Jasper knows how to work her body, better than she ever will, and it shows in the way he cradles her head between his hands, gently and with the most care he’s ever allowed himself to show.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hands move across his chest, the length of his arms. There’s a look in his eyes that she’s never seen before, soft and vulnerable and in need for </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She thinks she dreams it when he leans in and closes the gap between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They don’t kiss. Not like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is always heavy. Always sloppy and eager. An occasional kiss to his temple when he allows it, when he comes home from murdering a family of seven and sobs in the porcelain tub. It’s never this soft. Never this tender. He’s never kissed her like this, not even when he craves something softer, something warmer. It’s different and she loves it, the way his lips move and convey every thought and every fear and every hope against her own. His hands resting on the tops of her cheekbones, the warmth of him surrounding her body and the swell of him rocking inside of her gently. She whimpers into his mouth, her own hand cupping his jawline. She pours in every emotion and every hope and all of her acceptance in her reciprocation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he pulls away, just marginally, the bridge of his nose brushing against the tip of her own, he lets out a new sound. A breathless, shuttering breath that she’s never heard from him - that she always wants to hear from him for the rest of eternity. It’s every confession she’s always hoped and dreamed of. It’s every confession he never thought himself capable of giving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love you too,” she whispers. Jasper kisses her with a new intensity and willingly drowns in it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They continue like this. His soft rocking and consuming kiss until she’s falling over the edge again, much softer and much quieter than the last two times. Jasper follows, his hips stuttering and pressing against her own until every inch of him is inside of her. He doesn’t pull out, not right away, instead just choosing to look at her for the first time, his forehead resting against her own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He surprises her again. He closes his eyes and lets her breath fan out across his face. “I love you, Alice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles. Jasper wonders if she might burst.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emmett’s voice sounds from the hallway. “Do you want me to close your door?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>